Wibbly-Wobbly Winchesters
by truenarnian
Summary: What happens when two brothers who hunt demons run across a creature that clearly isn't even from Earth? A Superwholock one shot I wrote for a friend. Don't judge.


"What the hell is that?" Dean Winchester yelled, lifting his rock salt-loaded shotgun. His brother Sam did the same, although they both knew- but didn't tell the other- that it wouldn't do any good.

It was a strange contraption, Sam noted, as he made comparisons of the thing's attributes in his mind—making comparisons was his way of keeping track of everything they met. The entire thing was made of metal, and Sam wouldn't have thought it was alive if his instincts didn't tell him so (and in _this _business, instincts were everything). Its base was an irregular pentagon, and its lower half looked like an inside-out golf ball, with the half-spheres adorning its bronze surface at regular intervals. Its arms were baffling—one was some kind of gun that strongly reminded Sam of a whisk, and the other was an honest-to-God plunger. Its head was a metal dome, and attached were two lights positioned like cat's ears, and also a foot-long eyestalk with a glowing blue eyepiece. The whole thing looked like some kind of perverse kid's toy.

"Sam!" Dean yelled again. "What is this thing?"

"I don't know, Dean!" Sam hollered back. "I have _no idea. _Whatever it is, it's not supernatural."

"You're kidding me, right?" Dean gestured to the robot with his gun. "This is supposed to be _natural?"_

The thing had finally glided toward them from the end of the wall, and that's when the Winchesters first heard it speak. "You will i-dent-i-fy yourselves!" it ground out, its cat-ear-lights glowing with each syllable. Its voice, that forcibly reminded Sam of a buzz saw being run across the trunk of a car, made the brothers flinch.

"I guess someone needs a cough drop," Dean said sarcastically.

"You will i-dent-i-fy yourselves!" the Thing shrieked, now in a higher pitch.

"Calm down, bucko!" Dean threatened, pumping the shotgun. He almost smiled at the satisfying clicks it made. "You stay back!"

"Da-leks do not take or-ders!" the Thing declared, and continued advancing.

"Just stay there, okay?" Sam bargained, to no avail. "I don't think anything we've got's gonna work on this Thing," he said aside to Dean.

"What's the plan?" his brother replied.

Their eyes met, and then they both turned and ran down the hall.

_"Ex-ter-min-ate!" _ the Thing screamed, and a jet of blue light soared past Dean's elbow.

_"What _the—!" was as far as Dean got before Sam threw him into a corridor branching off the main hall. Another jet of blue light just avoided Sam's back.

"This way!" Sam commanded, leading his brother down the hall. They ran, with their footsteps perfectly in sync, through the corridor, hearts pumping. They heard the Thing turn in behind them, and they dove into another room before realizing they had just come through the only way in or out—and some kind of 'roided-up salt shaker was right on their tail.

"You've _got _to be kidding me," Sam panted. The brothers' eyes met and they both turned at the same time to face the Thing.

It's funny how much more threatening a whisk can look in the doorway to a room you can't leave. "You will i-dent-i-fy yourselves!" the Thing screeched.

"We're Sam and Dean Winchester!" Sam called, hoping to buy time.

It seemed to work. "Win-chest-er?" the Thing questioned, its eyestalk moving up and down with confusion.

Dean, hoping he wouldn't get roasted, called, "Yeah, we're the Winchesters! Got a problem with that?"

Suddenly, a great gale started up behind them, blowing Dean's leather jacket and Sam's luscious locks in front of them. A loud, eerie, unearthly sound sprang up behind them. There's no real way to describe it: it sort of sounded like drawing a deep breath with your lips pursed for whistling, but it didn't sound much like even _that._ The brothers exchanged glances again, surprised (and the elder more than a little terrified), and turned around. They'd seen a lot, but _nothing _could have prepared Dean for this.

A huge blue box was appearing out of_ thin air _behind them, a blue light flashing with each _vwoorp. _It was at least eight feet tall, and about the width of three men if they stood shoulder-to-shoulder. It was the deepest blue the Winchesters have ever seen. It was labeled, 'Police Box' on the top and looked something like a telephone booth, but other than that they had no idea what it was. They stared at it wonder, the giant blue box driving any thought of the Thing from their mind.

The blue box solidified completely, and the wind and supernatural scream ended. Suddenly, one of the doors opened, and a man's head popped out.

"Dean! Sam!" the man called, an arm extending out of the box. There was a something like a mechanical magic wand in the man's large, somewhat hairy hand. "In the TARDIS! Now!" The mystery man hit a button on his device, and a strange buzzing (far less annoying than it could have been, Dean noted) emitted from it, its tip glowing blue. Sparks exploded from the Thing's blue eyepiece, and before Dean could criticize the man's blue suit, Sam had grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him into the blue box, slamming the door shut behind them.

Dean stared at the inside of the box in wonder: _it was bigger on the inside. _"What the hell?" he whispered in terror, backing against the door. It was huge! This was supposed to be the inside of a box that covered only a square yard of space? Dean felt for his brother's arm, but there was nothing there. Frantic, Dean scanned the impossible space: he found Sam talking to their mysterious savior, both standing next to something that looked like the dashboard of a plane wrapped around a giant crystal chimney.

"Thanks, Doctor," Sam said, "You really got here in the nick of time."

"Well, time is what I know best!" their rescuer replied, and for the first time Dean noted a British accent. The man ran around the circular control panel, flipping switches and jabbing buttons. "What's the date, Sam?"

"July 18th, 2013," Sam replied, looking around. "Where's Rose?"

The trench coat-clad man looked up briefly from his levers, looking at Sam but not really seeing him. "She's gone," he replied, and it sounded far-away, as if he were lost in his own memories.

Sam recognized that expression—he wore it whenever he thought of Jessica—and decided not to push it. He wanted to know more, though: he remembered Rose, and she and Sam had been friends, and it was strange not seeing her in the TARDIS. But when he saw the pilot's face, he knew he was still beating himself up about it, and decided that asking right now was _not _a good idea.

Especially when they were still in danger and needed help.

"Is somebody out there?" a deep voice asked from down the hall. Sam turned to see another man there: he was at least six-foot, powerfully built, and wore a gigantic Belstaff coat. He had curly black hair, pale skin, a British accent, and a bored expression. "Tell me something interesting's happened."

The man in adult-sized Converse rolled his eyes as a second man came out of the hall. He was shorter than the first, and wore a fuzzy white jumper, jeans, and sturdy boots. "He took you to revolutionary France yesterday! We would have thought you'd find at least _that _interesting!"

"I have no need for that knowledge, John, as you very well know" the first man replied, descending the stairs. "Who are these men?"

"Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on here?" Dean yelled, still gripping the doorjamb, terrified. What was this, the British Revolt of Physics?

Sam swiveled around; he'd completely forgotten about his brother. "Dean!" he called, going to his brother and working away his grip on the door. Leading a shocked Dean toward the console, he said, "Dean, I need you to keep an open mind, okay? I've met these people before- when you were in Hell- and they're not dangerous. At least, not to us."

"So you're Sam's brother?" the man in the blue suit questioned with some incredulity, a gleeful smile now on his face. "Dean Winchester? Oh, he's told me a lot about _you." _

"And he's told me nothing about you," Dean retorted, sending an accusatory glance at his brother.

The pale man in the black coat said, "Well, he wanted to, but he knew you wouldn't believe him."

"Excuse me?" Dean said, slightly offended and more than slightly perturbed.

Sam intervened before his brother could threaten them with his shotgun. "Okay, Dean, these are Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," he said, pointing out the man with the black curls and his friend in the jumper.

Dean nodded in greeting. "Where am I?" he asked.

"In the TARDIS," answered the man behind the controls. "It stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space."

"It's a time machine," Sam clarified.

"Who're you?" Dean asked his and his brother's savior.

He smiled. "I'm the Doctor," he answered cheekily, fiddling with a few more controls.

"Doctor who?" Dean asked.

"Just the Doctor," the Doctor said, a grin lighting up his face as he threw a final lever. Suddenly, the TARDIS was filled with the eerie _vwoorp, _and all five men reached out to hold onto something as the time machine shook, and Dean could distinctly hear the Doctor yell, _"Allons-y!" _


End file.
